


What the Fuk is That?

by Aderam



Category: Valor Series - Tanya Huff
Genre: Gen, Space Marines, Yuletide 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:23:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aderam/pseuds/Aderam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which our heroes are sent to investigate a crashed ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Fuk is That?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaydeefalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeefalls/gifts).



> Shockingly enough I was originally using the movie Aliens for inspiration. That did not go according to plan. 
> 
> Space Marines are the best kind of Marines. 
> 
> Kaydeefalls, your taste seems to be almost identical to mine, so I really hope you like it! Happy Yuletide!

“What the fuk is that?” Juan asked when they finally got within visual range of the downed ship.

“That, Private Checya, is the question,” Sergeant Mike Glicksohn replied dryly and waved them forward with the barrel of his KC-7. “Now quit staring and get your ass down there.”

Juan muttered a few choice profanities low enough that Mike could pretend he hadn't heard them, but raised his heavy gun and began leading the two fireteams toward their target.

The ship – and Mike only felt confident calling it that because he himself had seen it crash two days ago – was one of the strangest he had ever seen. From a distance it looked like some kind of toxic bean. About half the size of a standard VTA, it was bent slightly to the port and shone an iridescent purple which bled into a swirly teal colour. Looking at it too closely made Mike feel vaguely queasy, so he tried to avoid looking directly at it, using his helmet scanner and keeping an eye on their surroundings in case there were any hostiles.

The Others had broken orbit shortly after the unknown ship had crashed, and while there was nothing to suggest that one had anything to do with the other, Mike had a policy of expecting the worst and thus avoiding dangerous surprises.

Sh'quo Company had been sent to Traal'nak V as reinforcements defending against the Others' latest advance. The planet was rocky with minimal plant life and generally worthless except for its proximity to Traal'nak III, one of the most important agricultural planets in H'san territory. As a group Sh'quo Company could care less about the reasons behind their latest deployment, but Traal'nak V was a generally moderate temperature and the rocky terrain offered a decent amount of cover without reducing visibility. On the whole it was one of the better planet-falls they'd had in recent memory.

Combat being combat, everyone seemed to be in good spirits as they mopped up the last of the Others' presence on the ground.

“Perimeter's secure,” Chandra Dar reported from the other side of the downed ship. “No sign of movement.”

“Acknowledged,” Mike confirmed, sweeping his gaze once more over the horizon before turning back to his marines. “Keep your heads up people. Ressk, Haysole, would you please find us a door?”

“I feel like I'm going to puke just looking at this thing,” Haysole muttered, echoing Mike's previous thought. But the di'Taykan didn't look away – probably more out of perverse curiosity than any desire to follow Mike's orders – and moved closer to the ship to start a more thorough examination. Ressk pulled out his slate and did the same while the remaining members of the two fireteams continued to guard the perimeter, keeping an eye on both the horizon and the ship.

Upon closer inspection the outer hull of the ship seemed to be made up of a series of metallic plates which overlapped each other like scales. If there was a hatch of some kind, the scales were covering the seams.

“Are we sure that this is an Others' ship?” Ressk asked lifting a scale by it's flat edge and squinting underneath it from a safe distance. Three metres down Haysole was poking gingerly at the crest of a scale. 

“Not really,” Mike replied with a shrug walking over to the Krai. “What're you thinking, Ressk?”

“I'm not sure, Sarge.”

Mike leaned over the shorter Marine's shoulder so he could see. The underside of the scales were connected to the body of the ship with a malleable material that shifted when Ressk moved the covering. 

“But this looks like organic technology,” Ressk continued, “and as far as I know the Others still haven't mastered that.”

Intelligence never bothered informing Marine grunts about any new advancements the Others might have developed. In return, Ressk didn't bother informing Intelligence when he hacked their systems. It was an open secret within Sh'quo Company. And since the information Ressk gathered was often extremely useful, the unofficial word from Captain Rose was that as long as he didn't know how Ressk got the information he was happy to make use of it.

“Smells like a _panjic_ flower,” Haysole observed, lifting a scale and inhaling happily through his mouth.

“Is that a good thing?” Hollice asked from what they were assuming was the stern.

“It's a nice change from smelling all of you,” Haysole retorted.

Ressk detached a sensor from his slate and jabbed it into the material under the scale he was still holding.

“So,” Mike said, ignoring the commentary from the peanut gallery, “if the Others don't have this technology, who does?”

Ressk cocked his head to the side thinking while a few lights flashed on his slate indicating the same.

“Last I heard a few of the Confederation universities were looking into it,” Ressk said. “I think that they were thinking of long-term exploration missions. You don't have to carry as many spare parts if the ship can grow replacements.”

“Are you saying that this ship is a fukking plant?” Juan chipped in.

Ressk's slate chirped and he smiled over at the heavy gunner. “Yup,” he replied and turned the screen of his slate towards Juan.

“You're a very strange looking flower,” Haysole told the ship, his cautious investigation now turned into light petting.

“Haysole,” Mike said, exasperated, “sometimes I worry about you.”

“Only sometimes, Sarge?” Binti Mashona asked with a wide grin, her eyes not leaving the horizon.

“Fuk you,” Haysole said and flipped Binti the bird, the human gesture having long since been adopted by all three Marine species. “My grandmother always said her plants grew better when she talked to them.”

“Does your grandmother know you spend all your time cleaning the crappers?” Juan jeered.

“Checya, your grandmother will be hearing the same thing about you if you don't shut up and keep watching the perimeter,” Mike said sharply, bringing everyone's attention back to the job at hand. Juan abruptly turned back to the horizon, swearing under his breath.

Ressk had moved on from the scales he'd been examining. He was waving his slate's sensor over the surface of the ship with one hand, and pulling up scales one by one seemingly at random to check their undersides.

Mike turned back to the Krai. “Are you getting anything off those scans?” he asked.

Ressk squinted down at his slate one more time and then frowned. “It's definitely picking up something,” he replied. “But I don't think it'll be useful to anyone except maybe the nerds back at HQ. If we're going to find the hatch, I think we're going to have to do a visual inspection.”

Mike turned to the Marines guarding the perimeter, “Has there been any sign of movement since we arrived?”

An uneven, negative chorus drifted back over the helmet comms.

“Alright. Hollice, Mysho – come over here and give Ressk and Haysole a hand looking for the door,” Mike ordered. “Everyone else tighten up the perimeter and keep your eyes open. Until we learn something new we're in hostile territory.”

“What exactly are we looking for?” Hollice asked. He lowered his weapon as he approached the ship so his hands would be free but kept it easily accessible.

Ressk lifted a scale as Hollice and Mysho reached his position. “Honestly,” he said with a shrug, “pretty much anything that doesn't look like this.”

Mysho reached forward and pulled the scale back to nearly 90° to get a better look – and then immediately dropped it as a high pierced squeal somewhere between comms feedback and angry kitten cut through the previous silence. The five Marines next to the ship took a step back and raised their weapons nearly in unison. 

“What the fuk did you do?” Haysole asked, hair visibly flat even under his helmet.

“I have no fukking idea,” Mysho replied, hands tight on the stock of her KC while the noise didn't let up. “It didn't seem to mind your _loyphee kaytii dai_.”

Mike didn't know the direct translation of the Taykan phrase, but he suspected that he didn't need to either. And frankly there were more pressing concerns than Taykan euphemisms.

“Ressk! Can you tell where that sound is coming –” the sound abruptly cut out, “ – from?”

In front of Mike, Hollice's shoulders relaxed visibly, but his grip stayed firm on his gun.

“It was coming from the ship,” Ressk said one hand on his slate and the other on his KC, “but that's as far as I can tell.”

“Perimeter?” Mike barked into his comms.

“Secure,” Dar responded quickly from the western side.

“Nothing on the horizon,” Mashona concurred from her position to the east. “What the fuk is wrong with that ship, Sarge?”

Then someone cleared their throat. It was a soft sound, polite, and coming from the ship.

“Fuk!” Juan said and all the Marines tensed up again.

“Ressk?” Mike asked.

The Krai shrugged. 

“Excuse me,” the ship asked. “Please identify yourselves.”

The Marines tensed, but left any response to Mike as the ranking NCO.

“You've crashed on a Confederation planet,” Mike announced with his parade ground voice, the sound carrying easily across the valley. “We control this territory, you should identify yourself. - Please,” he added as an afterthought.

“You're Confederation Marines?” The voice asked. It sounded almost excited.

“Yes,” Mike responded raising an eyebrow. He'd have thought the Others would have been able to identify them easily.

“Excellent!” the voice exclaimed. “I'm Professor Sun'trath of the research vessel Kiiara. I was uncertain of the result of the altercation with the Others and did not wish my research to fall into the hands of the enemy!”

Hollice shot Mike an incredulous look over his shoulder. 

Civilians.

“Let me just open the hatch, and perhaps you can help me get in contact with my people at the University,” Professor Sun'trath continued jovially.

There was a loud clank followed by a squelching noise and a small hatch big enough for one Marine pulled back into the ship just over three meters down from Haysole's position, the scales seeming to fold back in on themselves.

Soon after the hatch was filled with a rotund H'san with slightly washed-out scales. Based on what Mike knew about the H'san she looked older, but Mike still wouldn't want to face her claws – or tail – in a fight.

“Hello,” she said with the H'san equivalent of a smile, eyes squinting shut and tongue flicking quickly in and out of her mouth.

“Stand down, Marines,” Mike said and they all relaxed, lowering their weapons. “I'm Sergeant Mike Glicksohn, ma'am,” he continued, walking forward to greet their target. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“I assure you Sergeant, the pleasure is all mine,” Professor Sun'trath said. “You wouldn't happen to have any cheese, would you? I'm starving, and as the ship wasn't intended for a longer voyage the provisions are rather lacking.”

“Actually, ma'am,” Ressk said, moving forward and digging into his pack. “It's not much, but I do have a couple of pieces of Gouda.”

“Oh excellent!” she exclaimed. “Thank you.”

“Fukking Krai,” Juan muttered under his breath.


End file.
